


Somebody taught us.

by smartforholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Halloween Costumes, M/M, Poor Mycroft, Protective Greg Lestrade, Scary Clowns, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartforholmes/pseuds/smartforholmes
Summary: Sherlock plans a prank on Mycroft and Greg, as an experiment to prove Lestrade's devotion.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	Somebody taught us.

“So,” Sherlock started, looking at John feeding Rosie. “Pennywise.” A smile colored his lips as his eyes peeked at John's confused face, pleading.

“Well, you decided without asking **_me_** , _her_ _ **father**_ , she will dress up as Georgie. I guess Pennywise's fair enough.” Watson resigned, knowing very well Sherlock held tight onto his ideas.

Holmes looked around briefly, his mind invaded by half formulated thoughts. Just then, an extraordinary plan crossed his Mind Palace.

“Mycroft!”

John almost dropped Rosie at Sherlock's sudden outburst. “What about your brother now?”

“Take a moment to _think,_ John!” Sherlock yelled, exasperated. “My beloved brother and his biggest fear equal the pleasantest prank ever!” John almost laughed at Sherlock's smart but innocent idea.

He, in fact, actually laughed at his boyfriend's suggestion. “He's _engaged_ to Greg, Sherlock.”

“Who?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Sherlock! You've known him for more than 10 years now, _and_ he's marrying your brother, you damn well know his name.” John chuckled, leaving Rosie on the floor next to her toys. “Greg could _and_ will murder you if you increase Mycroft's anxiety for just a millisecond.”

Sherlock thought about it for a moment, not appreciating what Lestrade's rage could do to his persona.

“I don't think so.”

“You know what, that's fine, it's your arse, not mine that Greg will beat the crap out of.”

“You must know this is not about how badly I adore to play with my brother's emotions,” Sherlock added, looking serious all of the sudden. “I need to confirm a theory.”

“Which is?” John inquired, curious about what Holmes had under his sleeve.

“If Lestrade's worth of Mycroft's affection.”

John facepalmed at Sherlock's comment. “Sherl... Alright, let me get this straight. Greg, who threw himself to the Thames after your brother was shoved in,” John started, counting with his fingers. “who took a bullet on the chest after a failed assassination attempt on Mycroft, ” Sherlock tensed at the memory of his brother shouting as he put pressure to Lestrade's bleeding torso. ”who risked his life after being taken hostage during an attack on the Diogenes—”

“Okay, fine, I get it.” Sherlock tried to end the conversation.

“ _That_ Greg you wonder is worth of your brother's affection?” John questioned, clueless.

“It will only prove a point, John. It won't be the end of the bloody world.”

...

On October 30th, Sherlock and John, after leaving Rosie in the good care of Ms. Hudson, raced to Q-Park Leicester Square, where Mycroft's Mercedes-Benz was parked whilst he and Gregory spent a loving afternoon walking around the place.

Sherlock, on his terrifying Pennywise custom, applied fake blood to his clothes and face, making his look even more disturbing.

John gasped at the result. “Jesus, Sherlock. Greg _will_ massacre you.” Holmes could only grin. “And... What's exactly my role here?” John asked, looking down at his jumper and sweats.

The Detective grabbed another tube of fake blood and poured it over his clothing, and put in a little more to the corner of his mouth. “You will be the deceased one, my love,” Sherlock said. “I'm a killing clown after all, am I not?”

After coaxing the security guards to leave their designated plant, Sherlock took control of the lightning, installing himself in the small office next to the lift. Meanwhile, John loitered, seating in front of Mycroft's car, waiting for the exact moment to lay down.

Mycroft and Greg were two minutes away from arriving.

...

The lift's doors opened, and Mycroft walked out with Greg behind him, their hands locked together.

“I spent a marvelous afternoon with you, Gregory.” The elder Holmes murmurs on Lestrade's lips before kissing him softly.

“Indeed, gorgeous. This was an extraordinary afternoon.” Gregory replies, looking front as they marked their way to the Mercedes.

But something caught his eye; a body, a bloody body lying in front of their car.

“What the–? Mycroft, d'you see that?”

Mycroft glares at the body as the lights go off.

“Oh, oh... Oh, Christ, no...” Mycroft murmurs, as the panic rise his throat. “Gregory...” He adds, holding onto his partner's strong arm.

“Shhh, it's alright, darlin',” Greg shush him, setting himself in front of Mycroft as a shield. “Everything's okay.”

But that doesn't calm Mycroft's anxiety, not even one bit. “I'm scared...” He shivers, trying to hold back the tears that are forming in his eyes.

“Hey, don't worry, alright? I'm right here, nobody's going to pass through me.”

And then, the lights came back on, revealing a Clown soaked in blood standing in front of them, a huge knife in hand.

Mycroft's face instantly paled, his mind taking him back to the day Sherlock and John broke into his Mansion, clowns like this particular one included. As terror unravels in, his limbs lock in their place.

“What's— Oh, fuck!” Lestrade yells, his hand leaving Mycroft's as he ran away, too terrified to notice his partner wasn't following him.

As he stopped abruptly not far away from his original position, his eyes expanded in fear at the sight of Mycroft motionless form, the fucking clown getting closer to him.

“Myc—!” He ran back, almost slipping, his attention focused on saving Mycroft from getting most likely killed.

“Fuck, come on!” Greg crouched in front of Mycroft's tense form, fixing his shoulder on his lover's belly, lifting him as he gets back upright; setting a firm hand on the back of Mycroft's thighs so he won't drop him, Greg flew towards the lift.

On the way there, he can feel Mycroft shivering under his grip. “It's alright, darlin', I got you,” Greg mutters, breathless as he pressed the lift button desperately. “Oh for fuck's sake!”

At that precise moment, the sound of shoes rumbled on his left, the sight of the Clown smiling maliciously in front of them.

“Fuck off! I swear I will murder you!” The silver-haired man shouts, backing up slowly as his love tried to control his breathing and stop an upcoming panic attack.

But what the couple does _not_ expect is hear the laugh of John Watson, who's suddenly standing next to the Clown who began to remove the wig and makeup.

Uncovering one Sherlock William Scott Holmes.

“You... You motherf—” Before Greg has the chance to finish his own sentence, in record time he places Mycroft on the floor and race towards his brother-in-law, blind with fury.

The Detective Chief Inspector's fists connect with the high cheekbones of the younger Holmes, one after the other, a single punch striking his nose and immediately making him bleed.

“Greg, Greg! That's enough!” John attempted to stop him, only to receive a puncture to the nose as well, sending him to the concrete.

“You arseholes! Both of you! If I had my gun I would have shot you without hesitation!” Greg started rambling, angry tears escaping from his brown eyes.

As Greg walked away from Sherlock, remembering his Mycroft was probably panicking in the dark, John stood up and walked towards his boyfriend.

“Was it worth it?” The blonde asked, looking at Sherlock pinching the bridge of his nose which was badly bleeding.

Sherlock stared at Gregory, who held his weeping brother against his chest whilst stroking his hair lovingly. “Of course.” John stared at them with him, smiling. “He has finally earned my approval.”

“You know Mycroft would just deport you and marry Greg if you didn't approve their commitment.”

Sherlock chuckled, looking down at his Doctor. “He would not, he finally learned that caring _is_ an advantage.” He pointed out as Greg glared at him with anger.

“Somebody taught him,” John whispered, leaning towards Sherlock's shoulder, earning a kiss on his hair.

_“Somebody taught us.”_


End file.
